Page 87 of Last of Her Name

I stare in shock.

The girl is dressed in vityaze red, but instead of armor, she wears a caped gown that splits at either hip, over tight leggings. Her black hair is gathered into many small braids that are twisted into a bun atop her head. But most arresting is her face—a face I’ve seen before, on seven other girls and one boy. All with the same full lips, dark eyes, and high cheekbones.

“Natalya Ayedi,” I breathe, before I can stop myself. It’s not a question, because there isn’t a doubt in my mind that this girl is Riyan’s long-lost sister. She was here, all along, just like he’d feared—a prisoner of the Committee. Now I know how they broke through the Diamin Wall. “What are you doing here?”

But her eyes don’t even flicker. It’s as if she didn’t hear me.

Volkov smiles, giving me a surprised look. “Don’t tell me you know each other?”

“I … I know her family. What’s wrong with her?”

Natalya is staring straight ahead, her eyes empty, her expression bland. Only when Volkov speaks does she blink, her chin turning slightly as if she is awaiting orders.

“Natalya feels fine,” Volkov says. “Don’t you, my dear?”

She nods once, robotically.

“Natalya is the jewel of my military,” he tells me. “I assure you, you will find no better protection in the galaxy.”

“I don’t want her as my bodyguard!” I protest. “She should be sent back to her family! I—I want that to be one of my conditions!”

“Very well,” Volkov says. “Natalya, do you wish to return to your family?”

She tilts her head, her eyes meeting his and narrowing with confusion. “Family?”

The direktor shrugs, giving me a helpless look. But there’s a glint in his eye—he knows he’s mocking me, mockingus.

Then it hits me.

Natalya is brainjacked.

I heard of it from Pol. The Committee uses chips to override a person’s brain, reducing them to automatons who respond only to certain individuals. The technology is supposed to be illegal, and the Committee has always denied their use of it. But I’m staring at the proof, and she’s staring right back.

Riyan had feared they were experimenting on his sister, stealing her genetic code.

The truth is so much worse.

Speechless with horror, I draw back, but Volkov catches my wrist. Our gazes lock over the Triangulum board, the game long abandoned.

“Understand this, Anya Leonova: Iwillfind a way to awaken the Firebird. Whatever it takes.”

When he pulls back, he leaves a single game piece lying on my palm—an alexandrite empress, her hollow eyes staring beneath a scarlet crown.

Alexandrine shimmers like a drop of blood against the cosmos. As we approach, I begin to make out the coastlines and continents, emerald green set in scarlet seas. The chemical that makes Alexandrine’s water look like blood is harmless, but I still find it hard to swallow.

I’ve been given free roam of the astronika, and I stand in the bridge to get the best view of the planet. The heart of the galaxy, Alexandrine is massive, the largest of the Jewel planets. Not only is it the capital of the Belt, it’s also the center of technology, trade, and learning. As the saying goes back home, if you’re going to be somebody, Alexandrine is where you start.

It was here the Leonovs rose from obscure scientists to powerful rulers. It wasfromhere that, nearly eight hundred years ago, their first Prism-powered ships blasted off in search of the scattered tribes of humanity.

Natalya stands below, staring with that unnervingly hollow look of hers. When I’ve tried to talk to her, in the rare moments we find ourselves alone together, she doesn’t speak. She seems robotic, like a ship running on auto—all minimum function and no personality. I can’t see her without feeling a wrench of horror. What would Riyan think, to know the truth about his sister? Will he ever get the chance to hear it? By now, he’ll be trapped in the Rumihan sand mines, sentenced by his own father to a fate almost as cruel as his sister’s. And I’m powerless to help either of them.

“The palace is night-side currently,” says Volkov. “We’re an hour away.”

I hadn’t heard him approach, and I tense automatically. For the past weeks of travel, he has paid close attention to me. He gave me a tour of the astronika, showing off its glamorous cabins, its theater, pools, gymnasiums. The only place I could escape him was in my luxurious stateroom, or in the geeball court, where I’d float in zero gravity and kick the ball with all my strength, trying to release tension. I’d only finally emerge when I was dripping with sweat and my muscles ached. But even then, Natalya was there, watching with her hollow eyes.

For the past two weeks, I’ve realized the prudence of playing along, pretending to be swayed by Volkov’s gestures. When he offers me a drink, I take it and say thanks. When he invites me to the theater to watch a movie, I go and I compliment him on his choice. When he suggests a game of Triangulum, I play and struggle to keep up. He wins every time.

Whatever I have to do to keep Clio safe, I will do it.